


half a homecoming

by wolfoncaffeine



Series: brave the storm for its lightning [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Gen, eirlana lavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 08:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13900596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfoncaffeine/pseuds/wolfoncaffeine
Summary: For the first time in fifteen years, she returns to her homeland. Almost.





	half a homecoming

Eirlana breathed in, slowly and deeply. Salt and cedar scents permeated the damp air, heavy and welcome on her tongue. Woodsmoke and elfroot tingled her nose. Up from the sea rose the roar of breaking surf and the gentler sound of diffusing waves, tumbling over the stones. Gulls squawked and cawed. Wind gusted through the trees, rustling their soaked boughs and sending a pattering shower onto the tarp overhead. Movement swished the ferns.

She looked up from her notebook.

Beyond the burning incense, the dwindling campfire, and the shelter provided by the tarp, a hare paused at the clearing’s edge, caught sight of her, and froze.

She rolled her lips. Roasted meat would be a delight, especially for her companions less accustomed to the damp weather. Pulling on _bellanar'an_ , she raised her hand.

The hare spun on its feet and bounded back into the underbrush.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” she huffed. Their supplies were not low, only uninspired — inadequately spiced jerky, oatmeal with dried apples, and a bitter tea — but fresh, hot food would help keep morale up.

_At least the weather’s clearing,_ she thought. Only a light drizzle fell, as late-afternoon sunlight burned through the thinning clouds.

She glanced at the tents, also pitched beneath the massive tarp. Blackwall’s fondness for the sea likely didn’t extend to the rainy weather, and she doubted that either Sera or Solas had enjoyed being drenched. None of them had lingered long after making camp in the torrential rain; they’d changed into dry clothes, left their wet garb by the fire, and retreated inside.

Bundled in her bear-pelt cloak, Eirlana had remained by the fire, jotted down her observations of the rifts, and breathed deeply of the salty air of _alalin’nu’an_. Of home and yet not.

The tumbling waves and crying gulls, the fragrant cedars and pungent fish, the bracing chill of rain and interludes of sunlight — all of it was achingly familiar and achingly wrong without red sails bright against the trees, halla snorting and snuffling, and a myriad of voices speaking a Common-Elven blend. Without Tunehn. Without Ren, Arion, and Tanmi. She gripped her tools, nails catching on nicks in the stone. _We won’t encounter anyone by chance; Isan has long since fled,_ she thought, then grimaced at her bitterness. Varadahlen keepers had kept their half-dozen camps secret from _shemlen_ only by avoiding the towns of _alalin’nu’an_ entirely, and retreating to the islands in times of turmoil. Her uncle would’ve fallen back months ago, as soon as news of the Inquisition reached him. She wouldn’t find any trace of Varadahlen, never mind happen to glimpse _aravel_ tracks in the mud or red sails on the water. Only luck, or a lack thereof —

The Anchor throbbed, needlepoint-sharp. Grimacing, she squished her hand under her knee. The blighted thing was a rank mess of fish guts. No one knew who created it or for what purpose, or how it was connected to _bellanar’an_ , or why it responded to her anxiety, or if its strain on her body would eventually kill her. And she had no choice but to use it. The Anchor was the only key to the rifts, and to the Breach. It was the only reason she was here, so close to Varadahlen. Whether or not she survived, she would never be closer.

The unbidden thought stuck with the force of a slap.

She jolted to her feet and strode out into the trees. Her legs shook. Her hand felt numb. Cedar boughs scratched her face as she stumbled forward, feet catching on roots and stones. The sea thundered. 

She slowed, suddenly seeing the cliff, and stepped carefully to the edge, feet sinking into the sodden earth. She stared at the sea, watching waves crash again and again over boulders, until noticing the chill creeping down her exposed neck.

Shivering, she clutched her cloak — a gift from her parents in celebration of her apprenticeship, eleven years ago. A nomadic Keeper, one of the few _aravasi ghilan_ , had delivered it. She couldn’t remember their face, or her parents’ voices.

Thoughtless as breathing, she remembered how she felt when Deshanna named her First, three days after Lien bled to death. Her chest ached, heavy again with that stifling weight.

Jaw clenched, she brushed her tears away and walked back to camp.

Her companions still showed no signs of emerging; the tents stood silent, save for faint snoring.

Eirlana sighed, relieved. How to explain abruptly wandering off, much less returning with reddened eyes, she didn’t know. Not that anyone would have pried. She just didn’t want them to see.

Halfway back to the campfire, she paused, as the clouds shifted and sunlight swept across the trees. In the next, the wind scattered raindrops onto her upturned face.

_I won’t be away more than an hour,_ she thought, kneeling to douse the fire and scribble a note on a scrap of parchment.

Staff in hand, she followed an animal trail into the woods — into grey-green shadows nestled in quiet. The narrow path curved downhill, overrun by temporary streams. Raindrops dripped off leaves and landed with soft taps on the ferns beneath. High in the trees, ravens croaked.

She walked out onto a wash of dark sand littered with driftwood and gulls hunting for shellfish in the golden light. Looming cedars curved around the small beach. Far out over the water, another front of storm clouds gathered, veined with lightning. A warm feeling rose in her chest.

The Anchor twinged, as if reminding her. As if she could forget that she’d bound herself to the Inquisition voluntarily, despite her instinct to run, despite the humans who whispered and glared at her back. As if she could forget that she was the only person capable of sealing the rifts that threatened tens of thousands of people. As if she would forget the refugees, huddling behind overturned carts or bleeding out in ditches.

As if she would ever forget her duties or vows as a First, or as a healer.

_A foolish child’s dream,_ she thought, as another bolt illuminated the clouds. _I know. I’ve known for years._ She’d grown up with stories of mages who shaped nature to their wills, harnessing storms or creating their own to protect their people. Ren had told her those stories, especially after her magic manifested so violently she’d destroyed a tree. As they collected firewood or mushrooms, he’d tell her of a clan elf who used a sandstorm to bury darkspawn, or a city elf who sealed off their alienage with snow, while young mages snuck out of the city and away from templars. He’d grin, whispering, “Don’t repeat those to Isan.”

His voice, like their parents’, was lost to memory.

She breathed in, held, and breathed out.

Watching the faraway storm darken and a veil of rain fall, she plucked seaweed off boulders revealed by low tide. Spiced and roasted, the plants would be tastier than any of their other provisions. Her companions might decline — Sera and Solas both disliked Dalish customs, albeit for different reasons, and she didn’t know Blackwall’s preferences — but it was the best she could do. With her water-proof pouch filled, she started back to camp in the failing light.

**Author's Note:**

> alalin'nu'an = place where the sea crashes (aka the Storm Coast)  
> aravasi ghilan = guide who travels (aka travelling Keeper)  
> bellanar'an = place of eternity (it's bothered me for AGES that the Dalish supposedly have a different name for the Fade, buuuut it's not actually an Elven word)


End file.
